


The Silence of Fighting

by snarkymuch



Series: twisted around and backwards [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Bipolar Tony Stark, Bucky Barnes Feels, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Lots of Gentle Touches and Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Really Could Be Triggering, Suicidal Ideation, Suicidal Thoughts, Super Soldiers Who Are Trying to Understand, Tony Stark Has Issues, be safe, lots of feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 09:33:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19129336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarkymuch/pseuds/snarkymuch
Summary: *A one-shot based on my story Riding the Tiger. You can read this separate from the series and have it make sense. I think.*Tony is cleaning out some old boxes and stumbled on a gun he'd designed years ago. He doesn't want to end his life, but his thoughts turn a bit morbid, convincing him to pick it up, just to hold it, and that's where Steve and Bucky find him. They think the worst, he tries to explain, and they all talk about their feelings and share in some soft moments.





	The Silence of Fighting

**Author's Note:**

> I want to make sure this is clear. This story has some sweet moments, but it can be triggering, so use caution. It openly deals with what it feels like to have intrusive thoughts about death and suicide. Please, stay safe. That said, enjoy!

The boxes had arrived from storage weeks ago, and Tony had meant to go through them—sort out the junk from anything useful. The stuff was all packed away years prior. It was from the time in his life when he was at his worst, self-medicating with booze and drugs. He wasn’t proud of who he was then or the things he created. The content of those boxes was a harsh reminder of who he’d been—a man who profited from death. Some of his greatest weapons designs were squirreled away in there. He’d never look at them again if it weren’t for Pepper wanting to organize the mess.

And that’s how he found himself sitting on the couch in his workshop, a stack of boxes against the wall and one open at his feet. His gaze was locked on the contents, though—nothing else. Laying there like it was mocking him, rested something he hadn’t seen in years. It was the prototype for a handgun—a design of his father’s that he’d redone. He’d upgraded to make it more efficient—deadlier and more devastating in every way. Paired with the right ammunition, it had an unbeatable stopping force and was incredibly accurate. Everything something meant to kill should be.

His eyes traced along the lines of the black metal—from the grip to the sights, and down to the trigger. It was well crafted. Some of his finer work. His mind began to wander, though, the longer he stared. His mind recalled the specs on the gun—its trigger pull weight, the force of its recoil. It was both morbid and fascinating to think how easy it would be to end it, right then and there. He just needed some ammo if it wasn’t already loaded. It would be so easy. It was like it was taunting him—daring him to touch. He wasn’t suicidal, though, not really. It was just he couldn’t chase away the twisted thoughts.

Reaching down, he brushed his fingers over the textured grip before picking it up. He weighed it in his hand. It was too light to be loaded—probably. With practiced ease, he dropped the clip and checked it—empty. He pulled back the slide and checked the chamber—empty as well. Popping the clip back in place, he took a moment to study it closer—his mind still echoing dangerous thoughts and desires.

Even though he knew it was empty, his heart still skipped a beat as he slipped his finger over the trigger—not squeezing, just feeling it, giving himself a little taste of what his thoughts were suggesting.

Suddenly, the door to his workshop opened without warning, causing him to jump, but he kept the gun in his hand. He wondered why Friday hadn’t warned him. He looked up to see Steve and Bucky pushing into the room, their expressions tight and a bit feral. Tony’s brows pinched together, wondering what was going on and then he saw that neither of his boyfriends were looking at him, but rather, the gun in his hand.

Feeling exposed and caught, Tony slid his finger off the trigger but didn’t put it down. He licked at his lips, adjusting his grip—the gun suddenly feeling much heavier than its metal allowed. His gaze flicked down to the gun and back to his boyfriends, his lips pursing. This wasn’t good.

“Tony,” Bucky said, voice strained, his eyes looking between the gun and Tony’s face. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “What’s going on?”

Tony watched them both for a moment—Steve looked ready to lunge for the gun at any moment, while Bucky just looked nervous and heartbroken.

His own emotions were becoming a chaotic mess he couldn’t untangle. Guilt mixed with shame and frustration as it danced with the edges of anger. He didn’t even know why he was angry or who at—maybe at himself.

His jaw twitched as it tightened, the intrusive thoughts from earlier gone. The only thing on his mind now was the looks of concern and disappointment on Bucky and Steve’s faces.

Clearing his throat, he glanced down at the gun for a moment, realizing then his hand was shaking. He tried to swallow, but his mouth had gone dry. His eyes snapped back to meet Bucky’s, taking in the touch of panic there.

“It’s nothing," Tony explained. "I was just going through some old things—Pepper’s idea. Cleaning out some of our storage.”

Steve’s hands twitched at his sides. “The gun, Tony. Friday called us down.”

Ah, well that explained it. He’d forgotten the protocols in place for things like this—for when it looked like he was a danger to himself.

His mind wandered for a moment, gaze falling back to the gun. Had he been a danger to himself? What if it’d been loaded? Would he still have dared to touch the trigger? His thumb stroked the grip, feeling the rough texture slide beneath it. Sighing, he looked back to Steve, noticing he was closer, his posture still tense and his eyes sharp—he looked ready to react.

“I’m not going to kill myself—if that’s what you think.”

He leaned back into the cushion, gun still in hand, resting on his leg. With his free hand, he rubbed his eyes. The day really wasn’t going as he’d imagined it. Hushed footsteps made him drop his hand from his eyes, and he looked to see Steve crouching in front of him. The soldier kept his eyes locked on Tony’s face, the blue that usually held warmth and happiness just looked afraid yet determined. With careful movements, and not looking away, Steve reached out and wrapped his fingers around Tony’s wrist, securing the hand holding the gun in his own.

For a moment no one moved, but then Bucky bent at the waist, reaching down and grasping the gun. Tony let it slip from his fingers with no resistance. He didn’t really want it anyway.

With a grace that only an assassin could have, Bucky checked it and then tucked it into the back of his pants. Steve pushed himself to his feet and then took a seat beside Tony on the couch.

Bucky followed suit on the other side, turning slightly to face him. He placed a hand on Tony’s knee. “It wasn’t loaded.”

A statement and question all in one.

Tony shook his head a little. “No. I wasn’t planning on anything. I just … I wanted to feel it in my hand—to know what it might feel like.”

“Jesus,” Steve cursed. His hand was still holding Tony’s wrist, his grip tightening slightly. “I don’t know what to say. I thought—seeing you with a gun. When Friday called, I thought you’d given up.”

Tony closed his eyes, taking a breath to steady himself. He didn’t know how to explain what it was like—why he’d picked it up, why he didn’t put it down. It had been so many things to hold it—soothing and frightening yet intoxicating, too. There was a power there when he held it—even if deep down, he didn’t want to die. It was just the idea that he could if he wanted.

Opening his eyes, Tony tried to explain. “I don’t want to die. I made sure it wasn’t loaded.” His explanation fell flat even to his ears. “I was just looking at it, thinking.”

Bucky’s hand slipped into his own, and Tony looked down at where their hands were joined before looking to his face. It was hardened with emotion like he was holding himself back from either falling apart or raging out. Tony could understand both reactions.

Bucky squeezed his hand. “Seeing you like that, I thought my heart stopped beating. I forgot what it felt like to breathe.”

Tony sighed. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t going to kill myself. I didn’t even have bullets.”

“That’s not reassuring, Tony,” Steve said. “What if you had? Where did it even come from?”

“Steve,” Bucky warned. “Take it easy.”

Tony pulled his wrist free from Steve’s grip and then ran a hand through his hair, nails scraping against his scalp. He looked back to the man, seeing the mixture of emotion on his face. He knew he couldn't lie. “Honestly, I don’t know what would’ve happened, but I don’t want to die. I really don’t know what I was thinking. It was just there in the box—it was something I designed years ago that'd been in storage.”

Bucky’s thumb rubbed back and forth over the back of his hand. “So, you didn’t go looking for it?”

Tony’s face twisted at the suggestion, drawing back from Bucky, anger brushing against him. He tried to tug his hand away, but Bucky held tight. “No. I didn’t. I just got caught up in my head. Something about it—I just wanted to see what it felt like in my hand. I told you. I wasn't trying to kill myself.”  

Bucky flinched at his tone. Maybe he'd been too harsh, too defensive, but it wasn’t like he’d planned to find the gun. It had just happened. He didn't need them thinking he had been hiding a gun or had crazy plans.

“Hey, no one’s mad, alright?” Bucky said, ducking his head, so he was in Tony’s eye line. “Just relax. We’re only trying to understand.”

Bucky's tone was soft, and it caused his hackles to fall. Tony relaxed his shoulders, letting himself sag back into the couch. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right. Sorry.”

Steve rested a hand on Tony’s thigh. “Should we call Pepper or Rhodey?”

Shaking his head, he sighed. “I’d rather not, but then again, Friday probably already alerted one or both.”

“I’ve been keeping them apprised of the situation, Boss,” his AI chimed in. “Ms. Potts will be here tonight and requests that someone stays with you until she arrives.”

He let out a groan of frustration and rubbed a hand over his mouth. This was a mess. He didn't blame Pepper for wanting to check in on him, especially after how she'd found him nearly dead in the past. It didn't mean it was any less stressful. “Thanks, girl. Even though I’m annoyed, I'm not mad at you.”

“My only desire is to keep you safe, Boss.”

“I know.”

Bucky reached over and brushed his fingertips through Tony’s hair, sweeping the few stray strands from his brow. The touch was so light it tickled his forehead, and he scrunched his brow.

Bucky smiled, but it didn't touch his eyes. “There's something I've never said out loud, something I think I should."

Tony turned his head, looking to Bucky, who had returned to letting his fingers gently brush through his hair. His face looked marred by something painful. "I know it’s not exactly the same, but you should know, there have been times I’ve done the same thing—just held a gun and wondered."

The confession weighted the air in the room, quiet except for the sharp intake of Steve's breath. "Buck—"

Bucky shook his head, cutting him off. "Let me get this out, Stevie."

Tony squeezed Bucky's hand. "Hey, take your time. We're not going anywhere."

Bucky nodded, sucking in a breath. "It was mostly while I was on the run—when I was hiding from everyone, hiding from myself.” The emotion was thick in his voice. “Sometimes, I would just imagine how much easier it would be if I didn’t exist. I'd just sit there thinking, getting lost in my head.”

Tony turned his hand in Bucky's, wiggling his fingers, so they were laced with his. His gaze met his and what he saw made him feel like he'd been sucker-punched. There was so much pain and hurt swirling in his eyes.

He had so many things he wanted to say, to ask. He was desperate to have someone who understood. “Do you still imagine it?" he whispered. "What it would be like to not exist?”

Bucky pursed his lips. He looked to Steve and then back to Tony, giving a hesitant nod, his hair falling around his eyes. “Not often, but sometimes—when I think about what I’ve done.”

“Buck.” Steve reached over, tangling his fingers in Bucky's hair, thumb rubbing against his temple. “Why didn’t you say something?”

Bucky shrugged, looking down. “I didn’t know what to say, and really, I don't deserve peace. I deserve to suffer for what I did. I've hurt so many people.”

Tony had to suppress a growl of frustration. If he could understand Bucky wasn’t the same man as the weapon Hydra had created, then Bucky damn well sure better get with the program. Tony pushed himself up and twisted to face his boyfriend, noting the pain etched on his face. Guilt washed over him as he realized he’d probably triggered Bucky to relive his trauma.

Pushing the guilt aside, he focused on setting Bucky straight. “You don’t think what has been done to you, what you’ve been through, is suffering enough? You are not what they made you, and if you think for one minute that you deserve to suffer, then so do I."

Bucky head snapped up and his eyes locked with Tony's. He opened his mouth to speak, but Tony pressed two fingers against his lips as he shook his head. "Shush. You need to listen."

The soldier pressed his lips together, his jaw moving as he tensed, but he didn't go to speak, so Tony let his fingers drop from his lips.

Taking a breath, he continued, "You need to understand. The shit I’ve built, the weapons I’ve sold, they've killed thousands. Since my father’s time, hundreds of thousands—probably even more. You don't deserve to suffer. If you really want to believe you do, then be prepared. I will be suffering with you. I'll let my own demons free.”

Bucky’s jaw twitched, his lips pursing. His gaze bounced back and forth between Tony and Steve. Finally, after a few beats of silence, Bucky let out a breath, the tension leaving his shoulders. “Okay.”

Tony nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. “Okay. Good." He reached up, cupping Bucky's cheek. The man turned his head into his hand, closing his eyes and nuzzling against it.

"How about we make a deal?" Tony asked.

Bucky hummed, opening his eyes to look at him.

"If either of us starts going down that road from now on, we call the other.”

The soldier pressed his hand against Tony's, holding his hand to his cheek. With a gentle touch, he slid Tony's hand down and pressed a kiss to his palm. "Deal."

He felt Steve shift behind him and then get to his feet, kicking the box out of the way. Both he and Bucky looked up to see him crouch in front of them, a watery smile on his face. He reached out a hand to each of them, twining his fingers in their hair, his expression open and soft.

Tony could feel the warmth radiating from his palm. He found himself turning into it. "Sorry, we're such a mess."

Bucky chuckled, taking Steve's hand and pressing a kiss to his palm as well before lacing their fingers together and holding it to his chest. "What he said."

It was Steve's turn to laugh, his smile turning genuine. "Yeah, but you're my messes, so I'll take it."

**Author's Note:**

> I got nothing super creative to say here, except please leave a comment and let me know what you think. I'll admit it. I need the reinforcement. I'm a sad, overly caffeinated trash panda. You should see me. I'm up drinking coffee at odd hours and pawing through the fridge, dark circles under my eyes. For real, folks. Trash. Panda.
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr if you like. [Snarky-drabbles](https://snarky-drabbles.tumblr.com/)


End file.
